


Blunt

by CelticKnot12



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:52:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot12/pseuds/CelticKnot12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver's been acting weird all day, and Felicity isn't really equipped to help. She's decided that she's going to anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blunt

Felicity didn't know what had set him off.

She'd run through their entire day, thinking through every name mentioned, every place they had gone, every word they had said, and she hadn't come up with anything. But there was obviously something. It wasn't every day she left Oliver's club at five in the morning and found him on an upstairs couch, staring blankly at nothing.

"Oliver?" She stepped cautiously in his direction, scuffing a shoe noisily, just in case. No response.

Okay. New tactic. She braced herself and stuck out a stiff finger, poking him awkwardly in the shoulder. "Uh… Ollie? That's a nickname, right? Do people call you that?"

His icy eyes slid over to her, calculating and cold. "Um. So you prefer Oliver then."

"Go home, Felicity. What are you still doing here, anyways?"

"Your router was acting out. I think you're paying your internet provider a little more than they deserve; your download speed is atrocious. I wonder if you could pay to get Fios out here in the Glades…" She stopped speaking when she noticed his eyes had returned to their unfocused glare at the wall. "And… You don't care."

Biting her lip, she observed him closely. His skin was sweaty and she thought she could see his pulse racing at an unnatural rate against his neck, which was pretty surprising given the cardio she'd watched him do. Not creepily. It was a neutral, casual observer watch. "Um. Oliver. Oliver?"

No response.

What to do… Call his family? No, that was probably a bad idea, who knew what questions they'd ask. Diggle then.

She pulled out her phone and had his name at her fingertips when suddenly her phone was wrenched from her fingers. In front of her was the imposing figure of Oliver, who had dropped the phone on the ground with an unceremonious clatter.

"Don't call anyone. I'm fine." His blue eyes threatened despite the somewhat dazed expression on his face.

"That was an iPhone. I'm sort of not okay with you dropping it." Felicity stooped to pick it up, hoping not to find spider webbed cracks, when they both noticed that Oliver's hand was wrapped around her arm in a very tight grip. "Would you mind letting go?"

His fingers released with exaggerated gentleness. "Sorry."

She watched his face carefully. "What's going on, Oliver? Normally you're a little weird—no offense or anything, I don't think anyone blames you, you were on some Lost-esque island for five years—but today…"

"I'm fine, Felicity. Go home."

She pursed her lips, unsure whether to take his advice or not. "Are you sure you're—"

"I'm sure." His voice was flat, lacking both conviction and indecision.

Wringing her fingers, she took an uncertain step toward the door. If she stayed, he could beat her up. He was pretty out of it. But if she left… The alternative scared her a little more. Not that she thought he'd do something. She just didn't want to leave him alone when any number of things could be wrong.

She took a deep breath and turned back to him. "I'm not leaving."

One of his eyebrows raised in question, almost amusement. Good. Emotion was good.

"Don't you make that face." Please don't stop making that face. Laugh if you want. That would be even better. "I can do whatever I darn well please."

"Okay." He turned to the bar, and, to Felicity's surprise, grabbed a large bottle of water, uncapping it and drinking deeply.

"Glad you're hydrating. Eight ounces a day—it's always been a challenge for me. I have a bladder the size of a meerkat's, so when I drink that much I spend basically the whole day in the bathroom." She paused. "Because you really needed to know that…"

"Look, Felicity, I'm not going to force you to go..." He left the, "and I could" unspoken.

"But shut up?" She filled in the rest of the thought.

He nodded, taking another giant gulp of water.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, both uncomfortably watching the other.

"Do you have something to do here or are you just trying to make sure I'll still be sane when Dig gets here tomorrow?" Oliver's voice attempted irritation.

"Today."

"What?"

"It's…" Felicity checked her phone, wiping residual dirt from its fall off the screen. "5:30. He'll be here in a couple hours. Today, not tomorrow."

"Ah." He finished his water bottle and grabbed for another.

"And it's the latter option, by the way. What's with you today?"

"Don't you mean yesterday?"

"You're still acting weird, so I can use present tense if I want. What's with all the water?"

"I'm thirsty." He answered simply, dropping onto the couch with an exhausted sigh.

"Should I make you a doctor's appointment or something? I'm not sure what to do with that."

"Please, Felicity, just leave me alone." Oh dear. He sounded like a little boy. Well, a little boy with a voice that had dropped to a very adult level. The point was he sounded young. And lost.

"I would, but I'll be honest, I just found out that my best friend is pregnant, and couple that with watching Finding Nemo last night and I'm feeling strangely maternal. It could also be hormones." Wow, Felicity. Just shut up. "So… Want to talk?"

He grunted in frustration and she helped herself to the seat next to him.

"Okay, obviously you don't. How about we just commiserate in silence, then?"

"Can you manage that?" He questioned wryly. Well, humor was good.

"Yes…" She trailed off, prepared to demonstrate her ability to be quiet to him. She wasn't good at it.

This couch was really comfortable. She squished back against it, oozing into the cushions. "Way to pick out the furniture, Oliver…" She hadn't realized she was so tired.

 

She woke up to Oliver's voice, which was softly murmuring words. It took a moment for her to register that they were for her, and even longer for her to start taking in what they meant.

"… In the raft and my dad made me drink all the water we had and then shot himself."

That roused her pretty well. "He did what?" She sat up, discovering in the process that she had been resting on Oliver's shoulder and also that she had a trail of drool running down the side of her mouth that had left an embarrassingly large patch on his sleeve.

Startled eyes turned to her. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was. Still am a little bit. But you wanted to talk?"

"Not really."

"You can't take it back, Oliver. You were talking to me while I was asleep, which means you want to talk. It's not so different when I'm awake." It was pretty different. It would be a struggle not to interrupt, for one thing.

Oliver paused, tilting his head back until it was against the wall. Felicity could practically hear him deciding whether to continue his story or not.

The silence stretched for a few long minutes. She'd almost fallen asleep again when his voice, a little huskier than usual, started echoing in the empty room.

"He didn't actually die when the boat went down. He and another member of the crew made it into the life raft. I would have drowned if they hadn't pulled me into it."

Don't say anything, Felicity. Don't interrupt. She chanted to herself so intensely that she almost missed what he was actually saying.

"We drifted for a few days. There were no rations. We had one water bottle, and I'm not even sure how we got that. There wasn't enough for all of us; we were all dying. About a day before I hit the island, Dad shot the other crew member and himself so that I could survive."

Her throat felt tight with emotion for him. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine."

"Don't try. It wouldn't help anybody." In the amount of time it had taken her to gather her wits and respond it seemed like he had applied a salve to his raw voice.

What was the next right thing to say in these situations? "I'm really sorry I drooled all over your sleeve." That probably wasn't it.

A muffled sigh that almost sounded like a laugh came from his side of the couch.

"I don't have anything else to say. I'm really bad at these situations. Sorry." She apologized, not sure what to fill the silence with.

"Felicity Smoak with nothing else to say. I'm not sure what to do with myself." He jabbed gently.

"Shut up."

"Mmhmm."

They sat on that couch until the sun rose and Diggle came to start the day.


End file.
